


An Unfortunate Cologne

by DarkDee



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism Play, Dominance, M/M, Sexual Tension, Strip Tease, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:26:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1464217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkDee/pseuds/DarkDee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of episode 7, Season 2, we see Will Graham at the door to Hannibal Lecter's office, where Will declares that he would like to resume his therapy. With his newly acquired redemption of character, Will is a little more aggressive now and decides it would be a good idea to get the point with Dr. Lecter, since the doctor is so interested in getting to the bottom of Will's real feelings. While his approach seems exceedingly sexual in nature - an approach that both disturbs and excites the doctor - sex is not what Will has in mind...even as he strips down and sits on Dr. Lecter's lap...</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unfortunate Cologne

“I can’t say it’s a pleasure to see you again, Will,” Lecter said, as he allowed his favorite patient to enter his office.

Will glared at the room, avoiding eye contact with the psychiatrist – not because of the holocaust of lies he’d recognize in the doctor’s serpentine eyes, but because surveying rooms filled with nicknacks soothed his psyche. Books, brass objets d’art, neatly stacked papers – these were the easygoing distractions that Will needed in order to reacquaint himself with the room in which unorthodox psychiatric treatment might yet again take place.

He spoke to the room, “Of course you can, Dr. Lecter. All you have to do is admit it.” He turned to face Hannibal. “In fact, it would be my guess that it is quite a pleasure for you to see me again. Am I wrong in making this assumption? Doctor?”

Hannibal lowered his head and looked up. “I have to know that you will not be making any further attempts to end my life, Will.”

Will walked over to the soft leather armchair reserved for patients, and as he bent to sit, he said, “Well, Dr. Lecter, in all honesty, sparing your life may prove to be as satisfying as ending it. I’m not a killer, after all. You’re the one who kills, Dr. Lecter.” He sat back comfortably, eyeballing Lecter, who stood by the door.

Lecter approached Will’s chair and hovered over the seated man, speaking softly in his ear. “Let the games begin then, shall we?”

Seeing Lecter poised so closely in front of him made Will want to thrust his leg up forcefully, kicking the man square in the testicles. Withholding this impulse, he smiled nervously and folded his arms behind his head.

Lecter slipped back a few steps and took his seat. He folded his leg over the other, smoothed his jacket, straightened his paisley-patterned tie, and pursed his lips into a smile.

“Well then. Perhaps we should talk about your feelings, Will.”

Will perked up, smirking as if he’d just been reminded that he was still in the room with Hannibal Lecter. He spoke.

“I am angry with you, Hannibal.”

“Because you still think I am the Ripper. I am sorry for this. Unfortunately I can no longer cater to this fantasy of yours, as it no longer serves anyone.”

Will’s eyes widened. “Cater. Serves. Interesting choice of words, doctor. I think you forget the words, “I eat people,” or are we still pretending to be everyone’s favorite meat-adoring freak who tends to coincidentally throw dinner parties within hours after the Chesapeake Ripper, ‘designs’ one of his pathetic, ‘art-house’ theatrical murder shows?”

Lecter frowned. “Are you calling me pathetic, Will?” His long-lipped expression lengthening into a pitying smile. “I am just kidding, of course.”

“In all this time, Dr. Lecter, you’ve never been able to see the obvious. You’ve got this attachment to me being, in some way, like you…as if my profiling makes me on some level akin to your sense of beauty, your fanatical sense of importance when life is displayed as death – you think I’m this great land, just waiting to be conquered. And why? Because you believe I have the potential to grant you your greatest desire.”

“And what is that, Will?”

“To not be so alone. It’s why you want to be my friend so urgently. You’re under some impression that I want you to be my mentor, that on some deep level, I want to be discovered…by you, of all people. You’re only happy when I’m tormented, as if anguish somehow seasons the meat…”

“A meal you assume I wish to prepare and eat. Is this correct, Will? You believe that after I’ve brainwashed and tortured you, framed, imprisoned and,” Lecter reflects on his statement, taking a moment to stroke his bottom lip with his ring finger, “forced you back to my office for more psychoanalysis – after you’ve attempted to murder me – that all I want is to make a meal out of you, as if I were some kind of zombie. Is that it, Will?”

“Not a zombie, Dr. Lecter. A cannibal.”

“I can assure you, Will, I am not a reflection of your inner desires.”

Will looked directly in Hannibal’s eyes, as he rose off his leather armchair.

“Oh yes, Dr. Lecter. You are exactly a reflection of my inner desires. Because the one thing you seemed to miss in all of your psychobabble crap is the clear and cut fact that, no, I am not a cannibal like you…”

Will approached Lecter’s chair; he stood in front of him, his legs almost touching the fabric of Hannibal’s immaculate tailored suit.

Catching Hannibal off guard, he noticed the man swallow deeply, adjusting his tie, once again. Hannibal, trying to appear unperturbed, said, “What do you want from me, Will? If you are so sure that I’ve missed the mark utterly with my diagnoses, then what is it that I’ve missed? Tell me, Will. Let me be your friend again.”

Will removed his glasses and put them in the pocket of his flannel shirt. He then unbuttoned the flannel, tossed the shirt on to Hannibal’s desk, and lifted the black t-shirt that he had on beneath it over his head. Standing there, shirtless, inches away from Hannibal, he ran his fingers through his curly dark hair and said, “You know what I want…Doctor…Lecter?” He slipped a knee into the cushioned area by Hannibal’s thigh, and leveraged himself into slipping the other knee in, by the other thigh. He sat on Dr. Lecter’s lap, extending his arms over the other man’s shoulders. Will’s stomach was a hair’s length away from Lecter’s lips.

“Hard to not smell me now, Dr. Lecter. Hard to not envision what I would taste like, isn’t that right, Dr. Lecter?”

Lecter’s mouth went slack as he allowed himself a deep, secretive sniff of Will’s abdomen. He did not smell like fear; he smelled like musk and semen. He also smelled like that unfortunate cologne, a fragrance that Hannibal detested in theory, but adored when associated with Will. Hannibal’s cheap thrill, if such a thing could even exist.

Hannibal looked up past Will’s chest and into his eyes. With a slight gasp in his breath he said, “I am not a homosexual, Will. Your sexual advances are inappropriate. I must ask you to remove yourself before I am provoked to use force.”

Will laughed. He looked down on Hannibal, grabbed the doctor’s hands and placed them on his pectoral muscles. He maneuvered Lecter’s hands up and down, smoothing over every contour of his torso. Then, he yelled.

“You think this is about sex? Wake up, Hannibal! It’s time to smell the coffee!”

Hannibal, feeling more homosexual at that moment than he cared to admit, knew he had to throw Will off his lap, lest his patient feel the hardness between his legs. Seizing Will by the wrists, he shouted, “What do you want of me? What do you want me to do, Will?”

Will, curling his body towards Lector’s face, calmly said, “I thought you’d never ask, Doc.”

“What, Will? How can I help you?” Lecter was conflicted; he didn’t want to let Will go. He wanted him to stay, to rip his pants off and turn around…he wanted to fuck Will as hard as Will seemed to want him to. And yet, that was not quite what Will had in mind. He said he wasn’t here for sex. Whatever then was he here for?

“I want you to eat me, Dr. Lecter.” Half lidded, Will was no longer afraid… of anything.

In that instant, Hannibal knew that, not only was he going to fuck the living shit out of Will’s unfortunately perfumed ass, but that he was going to allow himself the fantasy – if not the reality – of digging his fingers deeply into the flesh that demanded so much more than torture.

He was going to devour Will Graham.


End file.
